It is Tuesday, Oct. 12, 11:26 p.m. I am nursing my drink, contents undisclosed, as I sit in my chair in the office, working on two assignments, a poster presentation, a slide deck and a software tool that I need to demo to my advisor early tomorrow. At my desk, on one screen, sits the next day’s calendar: five deadlines, three meetings and one lecture. It’s also my date’s birthday. We’re going to a Future Islands concert at The Ritz, which starts at 8 p.m. My last meeting ends at 6 p.m. On another screen, an email from Dr. Doneka R. Scott, the one titled Prioritizing Mental Health. I can’t help but smirk at the absurdity of it all, of how I decided to type this up despite being so absolutely f—ed in terms of time. My coworkers aren’t as visibly amused. The pressure is on.
If you pin me as yet another case of Adderall-fueled, ADD-having, time-blind procrastinator, you wouldn’t be entirely off the mark. But you will be doing it at the cost of overlooking one key point – that is, most of us are going through some version of this right now. I believe it’s true because when I drove back to Main Campus at 8:30 p.m. today, the parking lots surrounding the buildings were packed, while the walkways on Hillsborough Street looked unusually vacant. Earlier in the morning, the weight rooms at Carmichael were similarly deserted, as were the tables at Global Village Coffee House. Even YikYak was dead today, with only a handful of posts linking to Google Forms accepting cuddle buddy applications, and no one to lambast them. Of course, the libraries were busy. Walking around at 10:30 p.m., even Talley looked more crowded than it had this entire summer. If you’re skeptical, chat with anyone from the facilities staff, or with officers in the late-night patrol cars around campus. They’ll tell you the same story – it’s been a slow few weeks ever since fall break ended.
Granted, it’s a hectic time for all of us. An onslaught of papers, to be written or to be graded, proposal season for postdocs and professors, and with administrative deadlines looming as we ease into the mid-semester slump, more steady work for staff. Yet somehow, we’re trudging along, hoping to make it. Or at least most of us are. Thoughts of the four suicide attempts on Chapel Hill haunt me. Walking through the tunnels, I pass faces I will likely never see again, each trying to forget how that midterm went, how much sleep they might be able to squeeze in tonight, and if they’ll be able to get some homework done between their shifts tomorrow. The story of those Tar Heels is our story, and it’s playing out in real-time. The pressure is on.
I go over the email once again. As heartfelt and genuine as it is, I wonder how effective it will be for those who need it most? The ones that stopped responding to their email months ago, long before pausing even to check them. Whoever believes we aren’t in the middle of a pervasively depressive week, month, year, a decade isn’t paying attention. But I am, as are so many within our community. Dr. Scott’s email notwithstanding, I urge you to take two minutes to check in with yourself to see how you’re feeling. And five, for the other lonesome wanderers around you. We have a shot at reducing the odds of a catastrophe by paying just a bit more attention, which is more than I can say for my looming deadlines.
